


what's it like?

by belovedmuerto



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, conversations before sleep, fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So, what's it like then?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	what's it like?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a ficlet today. It's Mystrade, for a nice change from my usual pace. Please to read and enjoy.
> 
> Un-beta'd, un-Britted. Please forgive my Americanisms.

“So what’s it like then?” Greg rests his chin on Mycroft’s chest and looks up at him, head rising and falling gently with each of Mycroft’s breaths.

Mycroft stretches and laces his fingers together behind his head, lifting just a bit to look down at Greg. “Hmm?”

“Always being the smartest man in the room.”

Mycroft smiles a little, mostly with his eyes. “Exhausting.”

Greg tries to smile back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Only it makes me wonder, sometimes, why you’re with a bloke like me.”

He looks away, holds his breath for the answer. Finally, he has to let it go, and he looks back at Mycroft, who is glaring at him.

“You sell yourself short entirely too often, Gregory.”

“I’m never the smartest man in the room, Mycroft. Not even close.”

“Gregory,” Mycroft admonishes. “You are an excellent detective and a very smart man. Sherlock, for one, wouldn’t continue your association were this not true. He admires you, you know.”

Greg grimaces. “Can we not talk about your brother when we’re both naked, please?”

Mycroft shrugs, an almost delicate lift of one shoulder, and unlaces his hands long enough to brush one across Greg’s cheek and through his hair. “You’re the one fishing for compliments, Gregory,” he teases.

He stops Greg’s protest before it can start by pressing one finger against his lips. “I know you’re not really. And I could, and would love to enumerate the myriad reasons I love you, were it not for the fact I have to be at the office in—”

“No, don’t say it,” Greg moves his head enough to say. “I don’t want to know how little sleep we’re getting tonight. I’ll be surviving the day on coffee and Red Bull, I’m sure of it.”

It’s Mycroft’s turn to grimace. “Please love, no Red Bull after three. I hate how jittery it makes you.”

Greg nods. “Send me a text to remind me?”

“Of course.”

There’s silence for a few minutes, except for the quiet sounds of skin against skin as they shift to get more comfortable for the scant few hours of sleep they’ll be getting. It’s worth it, though, when it’s been days since they could even talk, let alone spend time together.

“Myriad reasons, hmm?” Greg eventually asks.

“Myriad,” Mycroft agrees in a murmur. “I could wax poetic all day sometime, if you’d like. I’ll arrange the vacation time for both of us.” He unlaces his hands again to poke Greg in one of his sensitive spots, right below his ribs, earning himself a flail in response.

Greg settles again, preening just a bit, and Mycroft smiles at him. “Is one of those reasons how phenomenal a shag I am?”

Mycroft smiles again, laces his fingers back together, this time against Greg’s back, holding him close. “I was in love with you before we ever did that, Gregory,” he says quietly.

Greg is quiet for a moment before looking up sharply, mouth hanging open in shock for a second before he speaks. “Mycroft, we shagged on our first real date.”

Mycroft just smiles at him, and Greg blushes. He shifts to press a kiss to Mycroft’s chest, over his heart, before laying his head there. “I love you too, Mycroft.”


End file.
